


Once Upon a Heist

by orphan_account



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-31
Updated: 2014-01-31
Packaged: 2018-01-10 16:40:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1162057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After spending two years in prison for a theft gone wrong, Killian Jones gathers some friends and an enemy or two to help him reclaim his standing as a thief. And more importantly, his wife Emma. A blending of Once Upon a Time and the Ocean's Eleven movies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Before the Curtain Rises

Killian Jones has been waiting for today for two long years now; he’d have thought that all that time to think and plan would have prepared him for this moment, but gods, was he ever wrong about that! He stands at the bar, leaning casually against the sleek mahogany and sipping a whiskey on the rocks when she walks in the room. And just like magic, he finds himself back in another moment from so many years ago when he first laid eyes on her. Scouting for a buyer for a forged painting—he’d kept the original for himself, not stealing for a paying client for a change—he’d been informed that one Miss Emma Nolan was the best art appraiser and broker that the kingdoms had seen in generations. Eager to prove his own skills and to test hers, he’d arranged a meeting. She’d seen through his con immediately, instantly pointing out that tiniest of details that proved it as the fake it was—the forger’s signature mark, hidden in the scenery. Not a single one of the other “experts” he’d dealt with over the years had every recognized his mark, yet this feisty sylph of a woman had bested him; which naturally meant that he was fascinated and intrigued. It had taken him weeks of careful sleuthing and persuasion—hacking into her life and being as annoyingly persistent as only he could be—but she’d finally agreed to one date.

That was almost seven years ago now, four of which had been the most ridiculously chaotic and deliriously happy years of his life. Back then, she would give as good as she got, always challenging Killian while both enchanting and infuriating him. Every disagreement became a bet; every fight became a test of wills, and then a test of stamina since they always ended in their bedroom. He can still see that side of her despite all the years and all the layers she’s costumed herself in tonight. Emma may have her glorious blonde curls sleeked back and tamed in a tight chignon; she may be wearing a pale silver confection of a ball gown that screams refined elegance and taste; she may even be wrapped in diamond luxury, but he still sees that spark, that fire for life and risk that can’t be hidden behind her cold, controlled exterior. Not from him they can’t. He drinks down the last of his whiskey, placing his glass and some coins down for the barkeep, as she’s seated at a semi-private table for two. He straightens the cuffs of his white linen shirt and tugs his dark green waistcoat perfectly into place beneath his long, black leather coat. Game face on; it’s time to win your wife back, Jones.


	2. City of Gold

Science can prove many things, but it remains certain that it cannot account for every single possibility in the universe.

Some people claim that fairytales and magic are just stories, bits of nonsense and make-believe left over from our childhood, our long ages of dark and superstitious past. But where do these stories come from? Are not all fictions based, to one extent or another, on fact? Though it cannot yet be proven, there are worlds upon worlds—an infinite variety of realities lined up next to each other, sometimes amicably sharing borders and sometimes violently bleeding into one another. But all boundaries, all barriers, are breakable.

The land was dying, turning into a veritable desert before the jaded King’s eye. He’d lost his only son trying to reverse this wretched curse and he had almost lost hope of preserving his people. Until the day he remembered a story—about a city in another realm that had sprung up from a barren wasteland. It too resided in a sand-swept and barren valley, but it had become an Oasis. This paradise flourished not on crops and water and hard labor, but on greed and the man vices inherent to the race of men. And so the King emptied his dungeons, sending former prisoners out as emissaries to the enterprising scum and villains of all the various kingdoms; ply your foul trades here, he said, and we shall make each other wealthy beyond reckoning. And he chose a name for this sinner’s safe have after yet another legend from this other realm—El Dorado, a city of golden dreams lined by shattered hopes.  
Over time, El Dorado grew into a thriving metropolis; it provided the people of the kingdom with employment and just enough coin to keep hunger at bay, but it catered to visitors from other lands and realms who yearned for wealth, luxury, and power. And while many a man and woman made their fortunes and reputations on its hot sands, none rose higher or greater or created an empire quite like Mr. Gold. The magician had a knack for taking a money-making venture and turning it into a veritable well of riches. He owned—officially at least—a dozen of the finest hotels and casinos found on the glittering highway in the heart of El Dorado’s gambling district. Unofficially, he had stakes in many of the smaller halls, owned several of the seedier properties, and most of the brothels—all of which lined his already substantial pockets. For men like Gold, two things mattered in this world: money and family were everything. They were also his weakness.

Killian Jones fills his lungs to capacity—his first breath of free air in two years. Queen Abigail’s guards had walked him out into the castle bailey and roughly handed him the satchel he had been carrying when he was first arrested in the vault; despite thieving wardens and oft repeated jokes about it being filled with enough gold to bribe the garrison thrice over, it was really full of his most treasured personal possession. He sketches an elaborate bow to his goalers, and immediately digs inside as soon as the idiots had turned back, searching frantically for the contents of one of the smaller, hidden pockets. He sighs in relief when his fingertips brush against cool metal—the one bribe he’d been able to afford had worked. He draws out a plain silver band and quickly slips it on his ring finger, where it belongs. Next is the silver chain that holds another silver ring, this one set with two small bright diamonds and a large marquis-cut jade; he slips the chain over his neck, breathing another sigh of relief at the weight of her ring against his skin. He begins walking out of the castle proper and into the town; really, for all that he’d been imprisoned for trying to steal the crown jewels—not a metaphor, by the by—he’d have thought that her majesty would at least have insisted on him being seen to the town border. But then, only a foolish thief would get himself caught, spend the next few years in a dungeon, and then turn around to try the theft again… He can always come back another day.

For now, he satisfies himself with the knowledge that his sojourn in prison has not been completely without its compensations and rewards. Instead, he keeps walking and rummages through the satchel until he finds the slightly crumpled piece of parchment—a letter sent to him by his best friend Rusty nearly a year ago. Whistling to himself as he rereads the direction, he shuts the pack and slings it over his shoulder, setting off down the Queen’s Highway. El Dorado may be the crown jewel in King George’s realm—and his ultimate destination—but all along the borders with other kingdoms, smaller casino and hooker towns have sprung up to take advantage of the license their monarch allows to all vice businesses now. The neighboring rulers for the most part begrudgingly approve, if only because the associated trouble tends to stay away from their lands and gives the religious conservatives of their realms an enemy to rail at. It takes Killian just under a week to make it to the border; if Rusty got the letter he sent three months ago about his upcoming release date, then he and his old friends should catch up with each other at the Howling Wolf within a few days. He pays for a room for a week, then finds himself a corner table where he can eat a decent meal and have a bit of rum for the first time in too long.


	3. The Players

Catching up with Rusty is far easier than he expected—one would hardly credit that a self-respecting or canny thief would wittingly put their face up on posters all over town. Killian just shakes his head at his best friend’s brazen cheek; no one could ever accuse Ruby of being gutless, that’s for certain. As night begins to fall, he follows the groups of children and couples taking a well-earned break from reality at the end of a long work day to see the acting troupe that rolled onto the village green sometime last night. By sunrise, their fliers had been pasted all over the town buildings, advertising their repertoire of comedies, tragedies, and romances; performances running after dark on work days and thrice daily on rest days. He had to admit that Rusty’s cover was a clever one, no doubt earning her keep by teaching the younglings how to pick-pocket and run small game scams. Teaching the adults the finer points of avoiding detection and high-end thievery might be an option too. Although troupes like theirs and carnival folk would probably always be under suspicion after a heist and thus at a disadvantage when it came to hiding and selling the stolen goods.

Killian pays his penny to the little lad with a crutch sitting on a small stool by the entrance to the inn’s courtyard. He makes a note to tell Ruby that the boy’s “sores” could use some work, looking a bit too dry to be real. Instead of elbowing his way to the front, he keeps away from the crowd and lets the locals have their entertainment—chances at an evening out are few and far between at these towns that border the desert kingdom, because the rains are fewer and the crops more difficult to manage. He leans back against the still-warm wattle-and-daub wall, waiting for the performance to start. Tonight’s play is common enough fare where traveling troupes are concerned: young lovers meet and face the wrath of disapproving parents; the couple flees to the forest, where fairies manage to play them a trick; naturally, there’s a spurned lover or two; a bit with a dog and a happy ending for all. His best friend finally shows up somewhere in the second act as the benevolent, yet mercurial queen of the fairies. During her big speech, she looks out over the crowd, and Killian flashes her their signal—the flip of a casino’s coin.

Satisfied that his message has been received, he goes back to the Howling Wolf and settles in with a pint of ale and a meat pasty. From his satchel, he pulls out a folio of loose pages, going over their set up once more. His meal is long gone, and he’s deep into another pint by the time Rusty finally shows up with a little mousy woman at her side. Both women have flecks of stage paint and bits of glitter still hanging to their clothes, one of the many unfortunate side-effects of being an actor. Killian signals to the barkeep for three more pints by the time the ladies join him at his corner table. A salacious grin that’s all predator and teeth stretches across the she-wolf’s face. “I wasn’t expecting you for another week, Jones. Did the lovely Queen Abigail give in to that sweet, flattering tongue of yours at last?”

“The lady remains incorruptible and unsullied, mate. At least by me. It’s good to see you again too, Rusty. And how have you been, Killian? Oh, other than starving and locked away I’ve been just peachy… The actor’s life for you now, is it Ruby?” His own smirk never waivers, despite not knowing who the other member of their little party is. However, if Rusty brought the little pixie in with her, she must be part of their new crew.

She scoffs and flutters her left hand dramatically. “Hardly a challenge anymore. I’m so glad you’re finally out because I was getting quite bored. Looking forward to being a proper villain again.”

He snorts before lowering his tankard, knowing full well that she could have cut out on her own years ago with a reputation as famed as hers. But if Ruby is a thief, she is an honest and loyal one for all that. “You’ll have to forgive the wolf, my dear. Raised in the wild with no proper manners at all; I’m Killian Jones. And you are?”

The tiny raven-haired woman doesn’t smile, but firmly grips his hand. “Marie Blanche. Rusty brought me in as scenery. I never disappoint, and I’ve never gotten caught. If any of the stories are true, and at least half of hers are, then it will be a pleasure.”

“Excellent qualities to possess—both of them. I look forward to working with you as well. Anyone else from the troupe a part of our venture?”

Marie looks at Ruby for a moment before nodding her head. The she-wolf pulls a folio of her own from under her cloak. “Based on reputation, we’ve secured the Turk brothers, David and Victor. They tinker with this and that, but they will manage transport; we ran into them on the faire circuit several months ago, and tipped them a wink. They will arrive in El Dorado with the troupe in three weeks’ time and stay for about a month. So, whatever the plan is, we have less than two months to do it in. Who else?”

Killian sighs and runs a hand through his hair, the glint of silver from his ring catching Rusty’s eye. She doesn’t comment, but decides to ask him about it later. “Well, for starters we need Leroy Bash—he’s the best there is when it comes to explosives. The down side is that he’s still currently being held down where I was.”

“Abigail’s dungeons? Not impossible to escape, if you know how. But it’s not a problem. You see, he found religion while he was in there—more specifically, a certain holy sisterhood has been visiting him regularly for scripture readings. He’s being released early for good behavior, and that same sisterhood just so happened to be able to slip him a message for us. He should be here soon enough.” Rusty crosses her arms and leans back in her chair, face alight with smug pride.

He sends a wolfish grin right back at her. “Excellent. When we get to El Dorado, we’ll need to secure Marco for our bankroll. I want Romaigne and Livingston for magic and tech. I’m still open to suggestions on our Jack and Roller, if you’ve got them, ladies. But there’s one stop we need to make a couple towns over.”

Ruby’s expression starts to falter. “You can’t be serious, Jones! Gods damn it, you are! Rose and Thorn House?”

“I made her a promise once, Rusty. I have to.”

“I know I’m odd man out here, but what’s so important about a brothel outside of El Dorado?”

Killian’s smile is significantly more puckish when he looks at Marie. “It’s not the brothel that’s important—it’s the owner. This job we’re pulling, the man we’re stealing from? His wife runs Rose and Thorn House; in part, she’s his competition.”

[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]

Ruby refuses to let Killian go on his own, so they both rent horses in order to make the trip go faster. It takes them less than a day to arrive in a slightly bigger town than the one they’re staying at. The sun is still hours away from setting when they knock on the unassuming doors. A grill set in the door opens with a clank, revealing a veiled woman with sky-blue eyes. Her gaze darts quizzically between the two thieves, curiosity springing up in her features. “How may we be of service?”

“Please tell the Lady of the House that Walt sent us.” Clearly not what the woman was expecting, she narrows her eyes and studies Jones’ face before commanding them to wait and closing the grill forcefully.

“This will not end well, Killian. Especially if word gets around that you even stopped here, let alone went inside and spoke to--”

“I’ve got this, Rusty. You worry too much, and even if it gets back to her… Well, that’s just one more thing I’ll have to make up to my lovely wife.” His grin and his words are at odds with the coil of guilt that’s settled in his stomach. But he’d made a promise many years before—between a question of his own wounded pride and a scratch against his honor, he’ll take the first blow any day. Finally, the door opens, and the gate-keeper quietly ushers them inside. 

The downstairs of Rose and Thorn House resembles a regular tavern, mostly; of course, the average bar doesn’t tend to have topless female barkeeps or gaming tables. They also don’t usually have bound or shackled whores resting on their knees in subservient positions along the walls, dominance and submission play being the foundation on which this particular house built its reputation. However, since it is still fairly early, the serves that are up and about still have most of their clothes on and the wall niches are empty. Light is also in fairly short supply, being provided solely by the open louvers in the ceiling that normally direct smoke up and out of the room. But it’s bright enough for them to follow the veil-clad woman up toward the rooms, boudoirs, and offices.

Killian bites back a smile when Ruby starts sneezing at the top of the stairs—fire and cigarette smoke plus all the various perfumes and oils used by the whores to disguise more unpleasant odors clearly wreak havoc on a werewolf’s nose. He also wonders why the Lady’s assistant wears so much clothing—a not-unflattering, yet not form-fitting gown that brushes the floor with each step she takes in addition to the veil leaving practically all of the woman to the imagination. Either she is new and still under tutelage, or, she has been bought by someone and is off limits. Once, he may have found such things quaint or mildly intriguing; now, such injustices and abuses fill him with a cold rage. The veiled woman stops at the door at the very end of the hallway, knocking softly before opening and letting them into the office.

The room smells strongly of patchouli, a fragrance that he will always connect with another life, another time. “Well, well, well… Killian Jones. I must say, I had almost given up hope of you ever coming back to fulfill your promise to me.”

Though much of her famed beauty has faded with the harshness of the past few years, he still sees the passion and fire that first drew him to her. He smiles, genuinely happy to know that she is doing so well. “It’s good to see you too, Milah.”

Her blue eyes sparkle with mischief and memories. “And you. Ruby, dear, how are you? Have you finally decided to trade on your looks and your Other nature? I promise, you’ll be a rich woman in no time.”

The she-wolf bares her teeth playfully before sweeping the other woman into a hug. “No, thank you, Milah. I’d rather continue to be an honest thief. Although I am glad to see that life continues to improve for you.”

“And I have you two to thank for it. Gods alone know what I would have done if he’d been any more of a cruel wretch!” The black dress she wears is of the finest silk, painted and embroidered with bright, exotic scenes; her office is elegant, if a bit garish, but then she is the Lady of a bordello. She motions them both to the chairs before her desk, playing the role of hostess and pouring glasses of cherry brandy for her guests.

“I’ll come straight to the point, Milah. You know that I spent two years in Queen Abigail’s dungeon, and that it was more than just time that I lost. I can’t prove it, but I know that he was involved somehow. I know you have at least one spy placed in every single one of his casinos… I need the name of your best Honeypot and the services of one or two of your girls in the city for an evening.”

She hands a glass to each of them before sipping delicately at her own, a frown marring her features as she sits. Her one hand stays wrapped around the glass while the other picks up and toys with a golden letter opener, a gift from him no doubt. “My gods! You’re really going after him, aren’t you?”

Rusty places a hand on Killian’s. “It’s best if you don’t know the details now, but yes. And we’re going after Neal too.”

Milah draws in a deep, hitching breath; her eyes drift down from Ruby’s and to the glinting metal in her hands. “I thought you might… I suppose you both think that I’ll do the honorable thing and try to warn my husband and my son. I should, but I’m not going to. Vincent Gold has destroyed more than one life, but I want him to suffer for the day he decided that mine should be one of them. And as for Neal—he could have at least stood up for me, or tried to understand.”

She takes another drink of her brandy and puts her glass down before reaching into her desk and pulling out a folio similar to the ones Rusty and Jones have. She slides it over the surface of the desk. “Ruby, if I promise to behave will you please take that and give us a moment alone? Dossiers on my spies, as you call them, and all of their latest reports—everything you’ll need to take them down will be in there.”

With a final hug for her friend and a warning glare for him, Rusty leaves the office and closes the door behind her. For a moment, the former lovers can only stare at each other. “I know why you’re going after my son. But just so you know, he’s never been the brightest of boys. His father though… he knew just the right spot to strike; he knew where to bury the dagger that should have killed you. And yet you still managed to survive! Gods, how I envy her!”

“Milah, you know that I would have saved you, if only you had let me. My greatest regret is that I couldn’t protect you from him.” Killian rises from his chair and kneels beside her. He remembers all too clearly the younger, carefree days when her eyes and her voice had bespelled him. It kills him that now, in this moment, the love he still carries in his heart for her is no longer enough. She waves her hand and pushes him away, laugh sounding watery and unconvincing.

“I never expected to need you to, my dear. I spent you like so much coin and then spit you out. No, the fault is mine; we both know that I got too reckless, too careless. We had a good run, and I’ll always have a soft spot for that wickedly handsome face of yours. Don’t take any of my ruin on your shoulders—I played with fire, not you. And besides, she may have tried to forget it, but that girl is your True Love and certainly doesn’t belong with the likes of Neal. I love you enough to want what’s best for you; I wasn’t it. Now, go! Get revenge! Get even and go knock down those walls that she pretends will keep you out.” Her smile wavers at the edges, but he never once doubts the sincerity of her words. He takes her hands in his and presses a kiss to the back of each.

“Any piece in particular that you want back for your collection?”

Her sadness melts away completely in a feral grin. “Just make him bleed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Just a couple of notes. 1) Obviously, Killian has both of his hands and has never gone by the alias Captain Hook. 2) Milah and Killian did have an affair, but she ended it before her husband found out about it. 3) The password Killian uses is a Disney film reference.


End file.
